Nightmares of Red Stone
by The Last Archivist
Summary: Amidst the final stages of the war against Corypheus, the Inquisition is threatened by an enemy from within. One that no army, nor magic can vanquish. Their only hope lies in developing a cure for the disease known as The Corruption and an elven apostate who has returned after a long exile.
1. The Last Thoughts of a Dying Man

'_Everything I ever cared about is destroyed'_

'_Coward! You pretend you had no choice, but you could've fought.'_

'_I fought and lost long before Corypheus! Your Commander thinks he knows what that feels like? Well, he's wrong! I know what I did. I know none of you can understand why.'_

'_You were always weak and your leadership proves it.'_

'_Every one of those templars would've suffered until nothing was left. And then, be forced to kill and die. I gave them hope just like the Chantry. __**Just like you.**__ But I'm weak... and you're a savior.'_

'_...Do what you want, Inquisitor. __**I'm done talking.'**_

...

Seven hours had passed since his trial. Samson looked at the distance watching the final hours of day. The sky was already shifting from the intense blue to the familiar orange of sunset.

He was in a foul mood. Truth be told, he wasn't certain of what he was feeling at the moment. Anger mixed with sadness and an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. Anger for all the injustice suffered at the hands of bad authority, a theme that seemed to permeate his entire life, as he grimly concluded. Sadness for letting himself down and the people he tried to protect in such a way.

And helplessness for him reaching a point in his life where there was virtually no escape from his predicament. Whatever hope Samson had that chance would once again extend its hand to him was gone.

First, he was rescued from hell by Hawke. Earning his shield back didn't last much long, though. The confrontation between Meredith and Orsino made sure of that. The civil war had reached its apex many months ago and Kirkwall burned, its streets filled with the corpses of countless victims.

Second, just a few months after the city barely had time to rebuild, the templars of Kirkwall were poisoned by that red powder and went on a murdering rampage. The last of his troops were cut down just moments ago by a group of those monsters. There was nothing that could stop the devastation they brought in their wake.

He had to find reinforcements and get help from the city guard to evacuate the remaining civilians. A harsh realisation struck him as he dragged painfully away from the fight. Just when he had fought so hard to earn his prestige again, everything spiralled out of control.

...

After the staged coup of those monsters, there was nothing left of the Order now. The few good templars left were all but abandoned by the Divine. Kirkwall was doomed to succumb. And its people would drown in its own ashes.

'Not me, though. I'm a survivor.' He kept repeating to himself as he ran away from the turmoil. He had reached Lowtown before nightfall. Samson already knew all the hidden spots in the slums and how to avoid the city guards as they patrolled the streets after rogue mages and...and those monsters, those things clad in red and rage who, all of a sudden, invaded the Order from within and ripped his templar fellows to shreds with claws of raw lyrium...

Speaking of lyrium...

'Ugh' he moaned in the darkness, feeling the first pangs of withdrawal. It had been six days ever since he'd had his last dosage. During the assault in the Gallows, Samson and the remaining templars had virtually no means to replenish their lyrium supply. They had to do battle while struggling with the after effects of their addiction.

'Curse it! If only Cullen was still here...I wonder if he knew this was about to happen. Could he? Could he have left us to die like this?'

No, the thought was too grim. He knew Cullen. He was a young, good lad. He'd never leave his brothers and sisters behind if he knew what they were going through. Besides, it had already been weeks since he departed from Kirkwall.

Samson dragged his way toward his old, hiding spot. If he was lucky, that's where he'd find an extra cache of lyrium, one he kept safe for emergencies. He was panting and sweating as he walked, suffering both from the withdrawal as well as from a bleeding injury in his flank.

He removed a heavy lid from a hole in the ground and found the familiar little box. It was with relief he saw no one had perused the contents. The lock was still in place. With a hungry grin, he stared at the blue powder, pouring some of it on his shaky palm and prepared to ingest its content with delight...

A fireball exploded near his location and Samson was thrown in the air along with everything that was around him. His body descended into the nearby lake, the blue powder all but lost in the blue infinity. He shielded his head as best he could from the falling debris and struggled against his armor. The heavy metal suit threatened to drag him to the bottom.

Once rid of it, he swam as fast as he could back to the margin. The cold water and the night air made him shiver violently. At least the thermal shock had shrugged off some of the withdrawal pain he had been feeling.

His eyes gazed at his sinking shield, swallowed by the lake and the powder that was all but ruined now...

'Curse it. Curse it! What is this, why am I so hated? Huh What did I do?' he yelled at no one in particular, no longer bothering to hold back hot, angry tears. There was no one around to chastise a grown man for crying. Everyone was dead or running away.

A few minutes later, feeling calmer now, he saw in his mind's eye many flashes of what had happened in the Gallows in the past few days.

The sight of that dead woman crying in despair with glowing red eyes was too much for the population to bear. The red lyrium statue that Meredith had become had since then been removed from the courtyard to a cellar. The templars were still frightened of it, as though it would spring to life at any moment. No wonder a few days before his departure, Knight-Commander Cullen had requested a ship to take it to Orlais, to the White Spire, where it would be studied by the best enchanters of the empire, preferably as far away from Kirkwall as possible.

But what no one had predicted was that the statue had remained long enough to contaminate part of the lyrium supply...just a few milligrams, but enough to work its magic in a few templars and turn them into those horrible monsters.

At first, no one knew what the sudden madness that they contracted was. Later on, they claimed to hear voices on their heads as their eyes turned a strange bloodshot red. But it wasn't until red shards began to erupt from their bodies that they realized the killings had started.

And even though they managed to execute them all before they made more victims, others were already infected. It seemed anyone who had come even remotely in contact with their colleagues was now doomed to the same fate.

It was only a matter of days until the Order was torn apart and brother turned on brother, not knowing whether the sword was drawn on him out of genuine concern he was infected or if the infected ones obeyed the voices in their heads, telling them to murder the innocent.

Samson rocked his body back and forth, trying to console himself amongst the shattering reality. The screams of the civilians being chased down the streets were muffled by his shirt, which he had wrapped around his head to shun the world outside. He needed to think. The night air made him sneeze a few times. At least the unwilling cold bath served to keep him lucid enough not to get lost in the madness induced by the withdrawal.

He was still a knight-templar with some authority. If he acted quickly, perhaps he could rally the remaining survivors and flee to...where? What city was near enough? Starkhaven wasn't so far, but they wouldn't arrive there in less than two weeks. And would they survive the trip without any lyrium at all? If they didn't have another dosage in ten days, they'd die from the pain, for sure. And before that, the withdrawal would give them hallucinations, strong enough so that they would go mad and start attacking each other. That's what the Chantry always repeated.

Willing or not, they were leashed. He was leashed. There was nothing he could do. Unless go back into that burning hell that was the Gallows now with the city guard and try to restore order somehow...

'No doubt that redhead friend of Hawke has already marched there, sword and shield in hand and all.' he mused, thinking of the Guard-Captain.

The second pain made his intestines hurt and he let out an agonising yell, crouching on the hard stone ground. He could feel his insides turning into a mushy substance.

'Oh, please Maker, not this. Not now.'

He struggled as hard as he could, scratching his nails on the ground and feeling the cold sweat drench his body. His forehead touched the ground now and his hand was curled into a fist. The other was over his abdomen, and he breathed long, deep breaths, trying not to give in to despair as wave after wave of pain swept through him...

'I can't...I won't end like this. You...' in his final hour, he directed all his thoughts to the one entity that Samson believed would be listening.

'You made me suffer all this and for what? What was the great lesson you wanted to teach me? That I was never meant to be a good man, a defender of justice? Huh? You've mocked me ever since I joined the Templar Order. Throwing obstacle after obstacle in my path. Challenging me to give up all that I ever dreamed of becoming.'

'First, it was that inspection officer, telling me my health was too debilitated to serve, claiming that I would not stand the intense physical training. Huh. What did he know? I ended first in the annual marathon and was granted my shield from the Knight-Commander himself. Then, not long after, it was Meredith and her notice of expulsion from the Order. The withdrawal I had to endure for days, for weeks before finding some way to buy the dust was torture. It nearly killed me and left me an empty husk for almost ten years. Ten long years without a home, a family and a wife. Incapable of thinking clearly, of getting my wits together so as to give some sort of direction for my life. But I survived, didn't I? I survived your sordid test. And now, you kill me with this...this civil war, this mutiny that destroyed all I ever cared about.'

And as he fell his life slowly leave his body, his last thoughts were:

'You miserable bastard! You're no Maker, no God worthy of praise. Just like everything the Chantry created, you only exist to corrupt the souls of men. To bend them to the will of others. You...take your accursed lyrium with you, and my life as well, since that's the only thing that will satisfy you. But at least leave my soul to me. That's...the only thing...I...won't ...let you...strip...away...from...'

He rolled on the ground and his eyes now could see nothing but a great fog cover the city above him. His vision was blurred, but he could still distinguish a human-like shadow that towered over him, as though measuring the dying man.

'Knight-Captain Samson. So I finally found you.' said the deep, masculine voice before the templar's hearing had all but failed.

His consciousness slipped for only a moment before his body was jerked back to reality and his sight began to clear as life was poured back to him. The withdrawal gave way to a pleasurable sensation that soon turned to a slowly rising heat wave.

It _**was**_ lyrium, but not as he knew it. This lyrium was aggressive and all-consuming, while the other one was subtle and gentle, like the caress of a woman.

'Your leaders have failed you. Look how they left an outstanding member of the Templar Order. Thrown in the gutter, left and forgotten, to rot until he dies. '

Samson struggled to move, but his limbs were still numb. The man seemed to be able to read his thoughts. Was this man real and not hallucination provoked by the withdrawal?

'Your travesty of a Chantry is now trying to quench the inevitable flames of war that has already consumed your mages and templars. For years, decades, it stood and did nothing to repair the injustices perpetrated right under their watchful gaze. Mages were caged like animals, their raw potential stifled, their true power denied. And to guard them, trained dogs leashed by addiction. But no longer. Their lazy contemplation will cost them dearly. The world has been denied true magic for too long. Deep in a slumber, it only awaits to be awakened once more by those who possess the knowledge. These priests and travesty of leaders have no idea what is coming to them.'

Samson tried to move his lips, barely able to formulate the question: 'Wh-who are you?'

The man lowered his head and what Samson saw was enough to scare him to his wit's end. Maker, was this a man at all? With all the strange things growing all over him, he thought he was one of the monsters that assaulted the Gallows. The strong smell of rust, though, told him they were only bits and pieces of retorted metal.

With a sarcastic thought, Samson considered that, if he had ever been into the Deep Roads when he had the chance, he would've recognised what that creature was right away.

Many years ago, he had thought of going after his sister, who had decided to join the Wardens shortly after their family had been killed by a darkspawn horde. The Wardens, led by a young rivain named Duncan, managed to save the children. Unfortunately, nothing could be done for the parents.

Samson and Delilah were escorted to Kirkwall, where they were to live in a shelter for orphaned children. After seeing the place was so dismal, with the constant beatings and starvation, the young pair swiftly made their decision. One sibling joined the Wardens, while the other joined the Templars.

Five years would pass before Delilah contacted Samson through a letter, asking him to go to a nearby village, where Stroud and the other Wardens would visit on their way to Kirkwall. It was the same period when the Qunari invasion happened and Samson had gone into hiding to avoid the first civil war that swept the city. By the time everything went back to normal, he discovered to his chagrin that Delilah was long gone.

'I know you can hear me.' The creature's voice echoed and vibrated inside Samson's head, racking his skull, so strong it was.

_What are you?_ came the frightened thought.

'I am the one who will bring the dawn of a new age. I am the one who will deliver your world from its hubris. I will open the Heavens and prove to the peoples of Thedas that you have been deceived for centuries. Your Maker is nothing more than a fairy tale made to blind you to the mysteries of life and the absolute truth of the world. A cruel joke forged by your leaders to force you into ignorant submission.'

The way the creature spoke, he seemed to give voice to all the anger and hatred bottled up inside Samson. Hatred toward the Chantry, the Maker, toward the way things were in general.

'But first_**...I need an army**_**. And loyal officers by my side**.'

Now having a bit more control over his senses, Samson licked his lips and said:

'Well, if you're recruiting, I'm up for it. I'm tired of the Chantry. Tired of the casual levity with which they've always treated the templars' addiction. Of how you're left to rot in a madhouse after they've burned away your mind. Of having to hunt down innocent mages when they're still clinging to their mothers' skirt. Tired of it all.'

'That's what I hoped to hear.' said the creature, and he could tell it was smiling.

...

The Inquisitor had locked him up without even coming to talk to him once. Not that Samson had anything more to say.

But if anything, he hoped at least one institution in Thedas would change the status quo. That templars would no longer be wasted away and mages didn't have to waste their lives caged like animals. Didn't anyone see this was the problem? As long as they weren't free to be useful to society in some way, they would always rebel. And their jailors would always be tempted to perpetuate abuses against them, being restricted themselves to an imprisoned life in a tower, remaining forever leashed by that blue-powdered drug...

He was tired. He saw no hope for the future as it was. Damn it all! The Inquisitor was just like the rest of them. No one understood what the problem was, no one ever cared. Except maybe for Hawke, but he was now long gone...another casualty of life, of its inevitable circumstances, embraced by the arms of death before their time.

'It seems that is the only fate befitting the just.' He drew a small bottle from his pocket, staring hard at the red powder inside.

All his life, others dictated how Samson should lead it. Orphaned at a tender age, mocked by his colleagues for his pale skin, slim frame and soft heart, left to beg in the streets after his dishonorable disgrace...and now, condemned to rot in a cell after dooming the very people he was supposed to protect.

He had tried and failed. With everything he ever cared about destroyed, Samson would not allow others to dictate his final moments. If he was to have the last word, then he might as well do it now.

He removed the cork and swallowed the remaining red powder with a bit of water. The taste felt bitter, as always, and went down his throat like a liquefied scorching flame. It was done. He threw the bottle with all his might through the bars of his cell, hearing its distant shatter. In a few minutes, he'd forget who he was, what he'd done and be lullabied into blissful oblivion by the lyrium's sweet melody.

**Ten minutes later...**

'Open the door. I have permission from the Inquisitor to take the prisoner to the Undercroft.'

'What shall you be doing with'im, Miss Dagna?' asked the guard, obedient.

'Not with him, nor to him.' She corrected the woman 'It's the red lyrium. I think I'm close to something. I asked the mages to help me test on a nug the effects of contamination. They were infected with the corrupted lyrium and grew red shards all over their bodies, as predicted. But then-'

'You what, now?' exclaimed the guard, scandalised.

'Ugh, let me finish! As I was saying, but then I began purifying the blood with the help of magic – and a bit of equipment, of course – and the corruption just seemed to dilute instead, leaving the nug's body.'

'You used blood magic, then?'

'Ugh, no! Of course not. Well, sorta. Does manipulating blood count as blood magic?'

The guard threw her a look of sheer doubt.

'Well, if ya didn't summon any demons, then...no?'

The door was opened.

'What happened to the nug? Was it left like, a little monster, with bloodshot eyes and nasty pointy shards growing all over'im?'

'Thank the Paragons, no. The shards disappeared after a while and he could be restored to something close to his previous form. Of course, they didn't look like perfect little nugs anymore, but you could tell their bodies were back to normal.'

'Well, I'll be damned. That's some miracle you people made right there.'

'But that's still far from curing the taint. The nugs still carry it.' Dagna admitted.

'Sounds like a victory, anyway. It's already summin.' reassured the guard.

'If I can run a few tests in a human, I'm sure I can...'

The two women heard gulping and thrashing noises and rushed to the cell. The prisoner was fallen on the ground, completely white-faced and with wide-open eyes. His body was trembling uncontrollably, his breath was quick and shallow and copious amounts of foam left his mouth.

'By the Paragons, he's been poisoned. Call the Healers, quickly!'

The guard rushed back to the passage as Dagna got the water jug and prepared a quick concoction with the herbs and substances she usually carried with her. It wasn't enough to reverse the poison, but it would at least slow it down.

She forced the liquid down the prisoner's throat and grabbed a piece of leather, shoving it in his mouth to prevent him from biting his tongue. She then let his head rest on a pillow and scrutinized the cell.

There was a tiny cork in a corner, with a red substance in one of its ends.

'Red lyrium...but there is something more.'

Footsteps were heard coming from the stairs, but no Healer was seen coming. It was the elven apostate who rushed to the scene.

'What happened?' he demanded in a fierce, urgent voice.

'He swallowed a powdered mixture of red lyrium and deathroot.'

It was clear the man had attempted suicide.

'Damn it. How long has it been since he took it?' he kneeled near the prisoner.

'I don't know, I only just got here. But deathroot acts fast. It can't have been more than ten minutes.' She answered in an earnest voice.

Solas didn't waste any more minute and began to evoke healing spells.

'Do you have royal elfroot? It might reverse the poison more effectively. Also, bring those instruments you used in your experiment. We might be able to siphon the poison out of him.' he asked.

Without another word, Dagna hurried back to the Undercroft.


	2. Dagna's Research

_I ain't got that in me anymore. I just got the thirst and the dust._

'Everything I ever cared about is destroyed...'

'Don't say that, brother. Things are not over yet.'

'Delilah?' his voice echoed hopefully, filling the vast nothingness.

His weightless body floated in a place made of both shadow and light. There were rushing sounds passing by. The many sounds that composed the symphony of his life.

And in front of him, surrounded by a glorious halo, was Delilah. First as a Warden, then as the child he knew so many years ago.

'Hello again, brother. It has been a long time.' She greeted him with a smile, touching his face with her small, delicate hand. The touch made him feel young again and his body was now also that of a young boy.

'I miss you. I miss mother and father and...all the people we left behind...that I left behind. All the people that died, were led astray by my actions, on purpose or not... and whom I could do nothing to save...' he swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat wouldn't dissolve.

'You've always been a sourpuss, just like father.' she said with a short amused laugh. 'But then, that's why mother liked him. Don't look at the past. Whenever you look back, there will always be one or two regrets staring back at you. And if you let them, they'll drag you along and make you forget to live. You must endure, Sammy; learn to look ahead, to where it truly matters: your future. What's done is done. But your life is not done yet. You haven't been defeated. There is always another day.'

'Delilah...'

'Hang in there brother. Please don't leave me before your time. If I have my way, you'll see me again. Very soon, I promise.'

Her image soon began to flicker and dissolve in a white blur and he struggled to reach her before her entire being became nothing more than seam. The more he struggled, though, the more something held his arms in their place. Not only his arms, as he could feel, now, but his legs as well.

The sound of distant voices became more distinguishable and the muscles of his eyes were so stiff it felt as if they hadn't been opened in centuries.

'Will he know who he is?'

'Yes, Inquisitor. There are gaps in his memory, but they've been caused by the decades of lyrium usage, not the poison.'

'What about the red shards growing from him?'

'They'll eventually disappear, but it will take time. However, nothing can be done about the scars and wounds they'll leave behind.'

'So he'll remember all that he did...' said the voice, not sounding too satisfied.

There was a long moment of silence and it seemed as though all the light in the room went out. He felt his body enter a state of deep relaxation and fell asleep once more. But this time, he saw neither his sister, nor any recognisable place in his dreams. Only half-formed shadows and nightmares that chased him to no end.

...

'What do you mean? Are you telling me he went into a coma?' urged a loathsome feminine voice he barely recognized in his debilitated condition.

'For a moment back there, we thought he did. He's stabilized, now.' Replied another.

'Why doesn't he wake up, then?'

'Don't worry, it's nothing drastic. He'll be slipping between semi awareness and long periods of deep sleep in the weeks to come. It's part of his mind's recovery.' This time, a man's drooling voice answered.

'You see, it wasn't just the body that was affected by the substance. The red lyrium has addled his brain.'

'How much damage there was?'

'Well, that's the thing. Almost none. But we don't know if that was due to the after effects of Corypheus' magic or some inherent resistance of the prisoner.'

'Can you determine which one it was?'

'That's what I hoped to find out. We were lucky the poison didn't kill him. Now I can finally run my experiment.' answered a third voice brimming with excitement.

A moment of silence was followed by a long, audible sigh.

'Let me know the moment he regains his conscience.'

**Two weeks later...**

The memory of Corypheus and the red templars dragged far and far away as he drifted toward a warm gleam. His astral body had to protect his eyes so as to not allow the intense luminosity to burn them.

'Maker's breath, he's waking up!' exclaimed an alarmed voice.

'He can't wake up now. The shards are still piercing his skin!' shouted another.

'Shut up and get the damn concoction!' a man yelled.

Samson felt a terrible headache coupled with an overall numbness. Next, there was a blinding light coming from above and hurting his eyes. But before he could even feel his lips, much less move them to form a coherent question, something quite painless punctured his arm and he soon drifted into timeless sleep once again.

The three people who had been tending to him for the past two weeks breathed a collective relieved sigh.

'I told you to keep an eye on his blood pressure.' Alexius reproached the dwarf.

'I did. I don't know what happened. He wasn't supposed to wake up now. Bloody hell.' She cursed under her breath.

'He's recovering more quickly than we anticipated.' Observed Fiona.

Alexius didn't quite know what to think of it.

'Huh. I've never seen anyone have such resistance to lyrium.'

All of a sudden, a strange hypothesis crossed Dagna's mind.

'What if the deathroot diminished the effects of lyrium in his brain?'

Alexius snorted at the idea.

'That's preposterous! A common herb, nullify the effects of a mineral with magic properties? I've never even heard of such a thing.'

'Shouldn't we consider all the possibilities? I believe not even the best researchers in Tevinter fully understand how lyrium operates in the human system.' Fiona chimed in.

The magister was taken aback.

'Well, it's true we still haven't discovered all its properties...but-'

'No "butts", lord magister. I'll prepare the equipment and see what we can find out.' Dagna insisted, fumbling with her apparel.

The other two mages looked perplexed at her choice of words.

'I'm sorry, young lady, no what?' the magister demanded.

Fiona stifled a laugh and went back to casting the healing spells on Samson's skin, making sure the wounds caused by the growing shards didn't contract an infection.

**Another two weeks more...**

'You sure you want to try this? His heart rate is still erratic. And we could wait another week for the wounds to heal properly.' The dwarf suggested.

'We've already delayed this for too long. If he's not going to respond to the treatment, we might as well find out now.' Alexius insisted.

Dagna exchanged a worried glance with Fiona. The mage nodded and she proceeded to remove the needles from the patient's body.

Using healing spells, the pair of mages closed the tiny holes where they had pierced and, with a last exchanged look, cast the awakening spell on him.

As if pulled from the depths of a deep lake, Samson felt his consciousness slowly react, uncoiling its long stream of thoughts like a water serpent. The black, colourless abyss where his mind was became more and more filled with colour and sensation. Names and their faces began to surface as he swam through the murky waters toward the cleaner ocean of his higher mind.

'His eyes are stirring. Check his pulse.'

'Stable. Keep at it.'

He saw his mother and father, and then his sister, his beloved Delilah. She smiled at him in the same way she had done not too many days ago and greeted him as he passed her by, waving merrily at him as his astral body navigated ever upwards.

Now a young man, he swam through the many halls of the Gallows, envisioning his recruitment to the Templar Order and his victory in the marathon. It was with delight he saw himself earning his shield from the Knight-Commander in person.

'How many times do I have to repeat? Stop gawking at the patient. Check his vitals!' Alexius reproached the dwarf once more. Dagna hurriedly turned her attention to her instruments.

The lake turned into a stream of red water. Twisted remembrances of his time in Kirkwall plagued him. The sight of Corypheus came in the shape of a large, clawed hand that smelled strongly of rusted metal. It grabbed and pulled him further ahead, forcing him so fast against the water it hurt his very body. He tried to shake free, but its grasp just tightened around him, placing an unbearable pressure in his innards. He felt as though his spine would shatter.

'His pressure is rising. We have to abort!' Came Dagna's concerned voice.

'No! He's almost there. Keep up the spell, Fiona.' Alexius retorted.

'His heart is about to stop!'

Alexius increased the potency of the spell and ordered his colleague to do the same.

'Come on, son. You can do it. You've come this far and it wasn't for nothing. Come on, dammit!' he urged Samson under his breath.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard the Inquisitor's words about Corypheus' betrayal and the memory of their final battle was enough to enrage him. Blinded by the pain of that iron grasp and by the sheer rage consuming him –rage against the Chantry and that one-eyed monster of an institution which had brought him to his knees, he shattered the cages which kept him imprisoned with a battle cry and lashed violently against that hand.

The effort almost made him faint, but somehow his conscious mind had endured the final proof...his astral body drifted and drifted, finally coming ashore to a beach of crystalline water and white sand.

'He's coming around!' Dagna said louder than she intended.

'No need to shout, my dear.' The magister warned with visible annoyance.

Like a newborn, Samson slowly opened his eyes, closing them again after feeling the burning sensation of the light above.

'Welcome back to the world of the living.' Dagna greeted him, earning an angry growl from him in response.

...

His throat was dry as a desert and he couldn't even summon enough saliva to clean it. He tried to speak, but all his muscles felt heavy and numb.

'How do you feel?' asked a concerned woman's voice.

'W/where...ugh...' he tried to swallow with difficulty.

'Fetch some water, will you.' He heard the man demand.

He felt the wetness touch his lips and parted them. The water came rushing down, filling him with relief. He gulped ever so slowly, savouring it. Once he was done, he let out an indistinguishable noise, turning his head the other way to signal he had enough.

'Can you hear us? Do you know your name? Do you know where you are?' Alexius spoke loudly on purpose, trying to elicit a reaction from the patient.

'Maker's breath, Alexius.' Fiona complained after hearing him shout so near her ear.

Samson growled and made an effort to answer.

'S...Samson...Stratford...Knight-Captain...in...Cor...Coryphe...us...' he drifted off, only to be awoken by a mighty spell.

'He's disoriented. He's confusing his rank in Kirkwall with the one he had in Corypheus' army.'

'I told you we should've waited a bit longer.' Fiona complained again.

'Come one, son. We don't have all day. Try moving your arms.' Alexius urged him on, giving quick slaps all over his right arm.

This seemed to annoy Samson to no end and he yanked free of the man with a menacing yell.

'Good. Now the other.' Alexius moved to the other side of the bed, but he barely touched him and Samson was already moving his arm away from that annoying prick.

'There. See? There's nothing wrong with him.' The magister told Fiona, who returned a skeptical expression.

'We'll see in the next few days, Alexius.'

There was a noise coming from afar and Samson felt fresh wind sweeping the entrance to the room. Someone must've come in. The others, however, were either oblivious to it or pretended they noticed nothing.

'Where am I? What happened to me?' he demanded, still keeping his eyes shut due to the burning light.

There was a moment of silence and Fiona finally answered. She then told him he was in Skyhold and of his attempted suicide shortly after being trialled and imprisoned. Dagna then explained how he was rescued in time and was now undergoing a long treatment to be healed from the poison he took...and from the lingering effects of red lyrium.

At first, Samson didn't quite register what she had just said. His mind backtracked and he asked her to repeat that last sentence.

'It's as you heard; we are doing research on how to revert the red lyrium corruption. So far, we've managed to make it lie dormant in the body. We also found out we can dilute its amount in the bloodstream and force the shards to disappear in time.'

He could hardly believe what his ears were registering.

'But I'm...I'm almost taken by...by the lyrium. I've taken gross amounts of the stuff for the past few months.'

'Doesn't matter. The damage caused by the corruption wasn't that great. For some reason, your body has quite a resistance to it.' She went on.

'It could also have been a result of Corypheus' magic.' Fiona cautiously added.

'Yeah. Either way, most of the red lyrium is now out of your system. You'll still hear the song in your head, but not as intensely as before. Also, some of the...physical effects' she pointed at the bits of skin damaged by the corruption 'may or may not go away. I believe they may, if I continue purifying your blood.'

'If you what, now?' he turned at her with a dumbfounded expression.

'Let him rest for a while, Dagna. He's just woken up from an induced coma.' Fiona pleaded.

From his part, Samson could barely believe what those people had done to him and how things had taken such an unexpected turn.

_What the fuck. I can't even kill myself in peace. Why are those people fussing over me? What the hell do they want? Do they expect me to confess some secret information about Corypheus? The Inquisitor didn't even want me interrogated. She just shoved me in a goddamn cell and left me to rot._

'Hey! Who the fuck told you to keep me alive?'

Fiona dropped her staff and stared at him with a look of utter shock.

'Maker's breath, what on earth...'

'Mind your language.' Alexius warned in a low tone.

_Fuck you, old geezer._

'Oh, I'm sorry. Am I too foul mouthed for your delicate ears? Pardon my French, but I don't give a fuck for what you think. I want some answers. Now!'

Even debilitated as he was, his voice still commanded respect. The others seemed uncertain and hesitated. Finally, Alexius summoned the courage to reply:

'That... is something you'll have to ask her directly. Once you've fully recovered.' He stressed the 'once', lifting his index.

He let out a frustrated growl.

'So her Inquisitorial Royal Arseness is too high and mighty to let me know why she strips my dignity? What does she think, that people are hers to use as she sees fit?'

The three of them remained silent, exchanging a few worried glances rather than talk back. Samson just carried on with his rant.

'Piss on it! I don't owe her a damn thing. Nothing! I know what she wants. She wants the power of the red lyrium for herself. She's just testing to see if she can render her soldiers immune to its effects. But she won't find out.' He gave a sick laugh from the bottom of his throat.

'Of course not! You really think she'd expose any of her people to that accursed thing? She's not like you or Corypheus.' Dagna retorted.

'Don't you dare throw that to my face, dwarf. This whole Herald of Andraste cult is a sick joke! Who are you trying to fool? You're not talking to a fucking novice recruit. I've been a templar for more than six years before Meredith kicked me out.' He called the former Knight-Commander 'that bitch' under his breath 'The Inquisition is an armed branch of the Chantry, ready to strike any group that dares to challenge its authority again.'

Dagna threw him a look of disgust and retorted again. She was having none of it.

'Sure, she's going to help the very institution that wanted her dead not too long ago. Just a small detail you conveniently forgot, smartass!'

'You think I don't know that she put one of her own people on the sunburst throne?'

The look Dagna gave him made his lips form a crooked smile.

'Heh! You idiots must really worship her. You have no idea of the power play that's going on behind this saviour-of-Thedas fantasy going on. It's sickening!'

The dwarf was about to reply, but Alexius interrupted her before she could utter another word.

'Dagna, where are the results of the blood tests we ran this morning?'

The dwarf rushed to a desk, leaving Samson alone with his spite. The former templar dared open his eyes a bit and followed her busy figure for a while as she searched around for the paperwork. There was no use in arguing with these people. To them, the Inquisitor was invulnerable, the messenger of the Maker himself incarnate. He let out an audible sigh and dropped his head on the pillow.

For the remainder of the week, Samson's routine consisted of lying down on the Healing Wing doing nothing. The three people, Alexius, Fiona and Dagna – that insufferably bubbly dwarf, as he privately called her – tended to his remaining wounds and fed him elixirs every two hours, closely watching the treatment's results.

They would also puncture his arm and insert a needle connecting to strange tubes, through where his dark red blood flew. In the first days, Samson was actually horrified to see how dirty the substance that flowed in his veins was.

'It will resume its original red colour. Give it time.' The dwarf reassured him, pumping new blood in his body through another tube.

...

Days passed. He wouldn't admit it to his captors, but each new morning, Samson felt his strength return to him. He could now stare at the luminous blank space above him without hurting his eyes. With a turn of his head, he had discovered a few days ago that the light was actually due to a window positioned right on top of his bed.

'What in blazes...you just let the sunlight fry the patient's skulls? Where the hell are the curtains of this thing?'

Fiona twirled her staff and a dark fog covered the glass.

'This damn light nearly blinded me. I might've developed eye cancer without knowing.' He ranted on.

Dagna was fed up with his constant moaning and whatnots.

'Oh, shut up. You're such a sourpuss.'

'I am what, now?'

She stifled a laugh and turned her back to him, walking away. He still called after her, but Fiona forced him back to sleep with a spell.

**The next day...**

'I don't think there's much more we can do about it. I've drained all my resources.'

'Thank you, Gereon. You've helped us understand much more about the red lyrium.'

'Forgive me, but I'll only be satisfied until I hear it from the Inquisitor in person, Fiona.'

A sleepy yawn came from the bed and they went to tend to their patient.

'He's woken up earlier today.' The magister remarked.

'Is that a good sign or a bad sign?' she added.

Alexius bent over him and analyzed his pupils. Samson wanted nothing more than to keep away from him, but his limbs still didn't promptly answer.

'No longer bloodshot. I'd say we've accomplished a miracle. When he was brought here, I was sure there was not much to be done. I should be promoted for this.'

Samson let out a stiff laugh.

'Why not? The Inquisitor likes to get cozy with tevinters.'

The magister was losing the little patience he had.

'Now how could you come up with that?'

He lifted his hand in a non-threatening motion and swiftly grabbed the golden necklace dangling from the man's neck.

'The two serpents. Her mage friend had this on his neck, too.' And he spat on the ground near the magister.

Alexius kept his dignified posture as Samson ranted on, bearing his crooked teeth at him as his lips formed a snarl.

'I'm sure she'll give you everything you want, magister. Just keep finding new ways to employ your magic to her service.' He emphasized the word'magic' 'I bet the Chantry already has a new kind of lyrium underway...and millions of soldiers in Skyhold willing and ready to serve their Herald.'

He shoved the man with unnecessary brusqueness, disgusted at his sight. He saw it all now; or at least he believed he saw. The Inquisitor was using Tevinter knowledge and magic resources to study the red lyrium and refine it to a point where it could more efficiently control the templars. And he was the guinea pig for these experiments.

'If this were any other leader ahead of such an influential institution, I'd agree with you. But I'm not here, wasting my time, tending to you for my benefit.' Alexius replied quite calmly 'The Inquisitor has reason to seek a cure for the red lyrium corruption. It is a threat to anyone, she thinks. I thought my days here would be wasted, but she actually found some use for my abilities. If I were back in Tevinter, I'm afraid I would be too busy to bother with the red lyrium widespread.'

_Oh, fuck off. Using a lot of fancy words to say nothing in the end. Typical._

He dropped his head on a pillow again. So those bastards wouldn't tell him why he was there? Why they siphoned his entire blood out of him? Maker, he didn't even know whose blood was pumping through his veins, now.

With a swift motion, he grasped the dwarf's arm, startling her by accident.

'Oy! What blood did you pour back in me?'

Dagna exchanged a look with Fiona and said:

'Her blood.'

His mouth quivered with her reply.

'What?'

Alexius proceeded to explain.

'Fiona was once a Grey Warden. Like you, she was corrupted by the taint. However, after giving birth, the corruption all but left her body. Now, we know for a fact that the baby is healthy. His blood is clean. So how is it possible mother and child no longer bear any traces of it? Where did the taint travel to?'

This time, Samson made no snarky remarks.

'The answer, as Dagna and I researched in the past few months, lies in the blood of the uterus. At the moment of conception, new cells are formed from the old ones. It so happens that this process generates a natural antibody that actually "shuts down" the aggressiveness of the tainted blood. This is nature's own mechanism for protecting the baby. The child will be born with antibodies and won't die from the taint in the future. As for the mother, well...You see, the person still carries it within her, but it is now dormant. And overtime, as her blood naturally produces new cells and discards the old ones, her health is re-established until her body goes back to her condition previous to acquiring the taint.' He concluded with a satisfied smile.

Samson just stared at him, feeling like an idiot. Was he hearing what he thought he was hearing? Had the cure for the taint finally been discovered?

'It doesn't always work, though.' Dagna commented 'Some people's bloods are incompatible. What we did to you was replace half of all the blood in your system with magically reproduced blood from Fiona's uterus. Luckily, we had a fresh supply already in stock. Otherwise, you would have transformed in a red templar. Or died.'

Samson was torn between wander and nausea. He had uterus blood running through his veins? How fucked up was that in comparison to sniffing red powder and not going mad with Corypheus' voice echoing constantly in his head? If he didn't know that dwarf was crazy enough to attempt something like this, he'd find this whole story too farfetched.

He lay down in bed again, pondering what they had told him. His head began to hurt. _Could all this be true? _

He heard the door open and tried to turn to look who was coming in. But before he even moved, Fiona had cast another sleeping spell.

**The next morning...**

'I don't want him being forced to leave his bed before he is fit again.' He heard the dwarf complain loudly outside.

'Oh, for Gods' sake, Dagna. It's been more than a month, already. A few energizing spells and he'll be walking and fighting again.' Answered the magister.

'You can't keep someone on magic alone! It's harmful for his health in the long term. You know that!' She retorted.

Samson just listened to his own, steady breath as those three bickered outside.

'I bet the Inquisitor wants to see me, now.' He murmured to himself 'Maybe I'll surprise her.' He opened a sadistic smile.

He tried regaining control of his arms, but they felt like two iron logs. He breathed in a steady, controlled rhythm, just as he used to when he was training in the Gallows and tried lifting them. He managed to keep them up for a couple of seconds before they came crashing down on the bed.

His left hand fell on a table nearby, shattering some of its contents.

A torrent of profanities left his mouth and he could hear the three people come back inside. Dagna hurriedly rearranged her equipment, cursing under her breath when she realized she'd have to rebuild some of the irreparable pieces. Fiona advised him against trying to get up, revealing he couldn't lift his limbs because they placed a spell on him. His body was still adapting to the blood transfusion. He'd need a few more days.

'Undo the spell.' He demanded silently.

She hesitated to comply.

'Godammit, undo it woman!'

She crossed her arms, looking down at him seriously. Alexius glanced at her and decided to do it in her stead. She tried to protest, but he reassured her that, if he fainted, they could use a levitation spell to avoid a serious accident. And at least, he wouldn't bother them again with such request.

The heavy sensation was lifted and Samson felt he could now move freely. He made a swift motion with his arm and grabbed the side of the bed. Fighting back the feeling of weakness which threatened to overwhelm him, he managed to sit on the bed. His head hurt like hell and his vision as half blurred. For a moment, he thought he would faint, but his blood pressure was slowly stabilizing.

'Well, I'll be damned. The man is stronger than a bull. He may not look like that, but anyway. You've been blessed by the Gods, son! They have given you a second chance.' Exclaimed Alexius.

'Screw your Gods, tevinter. They are the reason why things like the Chantry were created in the first place.' He growled, staring at the mage with bitterness.

'And he's back to his old, grumpy self. Hurray!' Dagna cheered.

He heard footsteps from the door and a shadowy figure approached the group. It had both its hands behind its back as it stood in a military posture. The others automatically spun their heads in its direction.

'I believe our work here is truly done**, Inquisitor**. As of today, Samson is a living example of how red lyrium can be successfully siphoned out of the human body. Thanks to your resources, you have accomplished a miracle.'

_Inquisitor? What the fuck? She was here? All the time? Ugh, my head..._

'Well done. This is not something I could've done without your assistance, Gereon. When you have some time, we'll discuss your request for a visit to Tevinter.'

Alexius gave a respectful bow, genuinely grateful.

'Are you alright, Fiona? How was the transfer?'

'It's quite alright, Inquisitor. Much of the blood we needed was already available. My efforts were directed to assisting Alexius with the spells needed.' She reassured the woman.

The Inquisitor turned her head to the dwarf next.

'I believed you have discovered everything you wanted. Am I correct in assuming that much, Dagna?'

'Uhum. Although I would advise you let sourpuss here rest for another hour. Just to make sure he doesn't faint when talking to you.'

The Inquisitor opened a small smile, which was equivalent to a laugh.

'Go ahead and make fun of me while I'm weak. I'm just glad I finally got rid of your irritating presence, dwarf.' he sounded deeply annoyed.

'I shall miss you, too.' She replied before leaving with her equipment.

'So, you've made some new friends, I assume?'

It took Samson a few moments to realize the Inquisitor was addressing him. He snorted at the sudden familiarity in her tone.

'What is this? Do you think I'm some sorry bastard you can conquer with your female charm and twist to your designs? May you rot after Corypheus wipes you and your kind from the face of Thedas! I'll personally shake his hand for that. And then, take a long, nice piss on your corpse.'

Surprisingly, Alexius was bothered by his lack of tact.

'There's no need to speak to her like that!'

'Oh shut up, magister.' He stressed the last word, his tone dripping with spite.

But the Inquisitor didn't seem shaken by his rude remark.

'Corypheus might try, but he's in an uncomfortable position right now. There are no more allies he can turn against each other. The mages have settled down. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be done for the templars.'

'Brings a tear to the eye.' He said with even more sarcasm.

There was a short pause when she made a silent scrutiny of his condition.

'My team of Healers managed to bring you back from the dead. I know they are capable, but still, the fact you survived is...curious, to say the least.'

Samson snorted again in disbelief.

'Are you gonna say the Maker intervened on my behalf? Well, he can go fuck himself.'

'Why?' she asked carefully.

'I'm sorry, but I don't feel like sharing the story of my life with you, Inquisitah.' He mocked her title, pronouncing it wrong on purpose 'Like I said before, I'm done talking.'

_Your kind never listens to mine, anyway..._

The pain in his head diminished, but he tried to get up and found out he was still too weak. He reluctantly sat back again with the help of Alexius. He hated the Inquisitor was seeing him in such a fragile state. Twice already he was before her in a situation of impotence.

_Talk about humiliation._

The Inquisitor spoke again.

'You're angry, now, for many reasons. But soon, you'll realize you've been handed a second chance.'

Still with his eyes hurting like hell and feeling nauseous, Samson merely growled a reply.

'I don't believe in second chances.'

_I ain't got that in me anymore. I just got the thirst and the dust._

His dead serious tone punctured the hopeful balloon that had been hovering above everyone's heads for a while. Alexius let out a prolonged sigh and announced he'd take a long rest and wouldn't want to be disturbed for the next month or so.

'We'll be watching him for another hour. Don't worry, Inquisitor. If something happens, the mages can take care of it.' he reassured her.

'We'll be watching over our patient. The sourpuss is in good hands.' Fiona added with a mischievous expression.

'Oh, curse you, you bunch of motherless, sick bastards...' Samson continued muttering his angry rant under his breath.

The Inquisitor left the Healing Wing and asked them to send a messenger notifying her when Samson would be up and about. She would have several questions for him. And she wanted them answered as quickly as possible.


End file.
